[He seems in no overall hurry to move, his actions slow and patient as he reels in the line. Something a slightly brighter shade than the water around, formless and ethereal, comes up with the line. It curls around and through his bony fingers, almost playfully, before he tucks it gently into his pocket.
The Gentleman stands, using the fishing pole as a walking cane, and starts towards the maw, picking a path just to the south.]
I imagine you aint much of the nattering type, bit refreshin' in a way.